


nothing feels alright now

by tefsamt



Category: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Anger, Angst and Tragedy, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Dissociation, Emotional Baggage, Gen, Grief/Mourning, He/Him Pronouns for Fujisaki Chihiro, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad Ending, Self-Harm, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29183211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tefsamt/pseuds/tefsamt
Summary: The sky is grey. It's cold outside.Mondo hates the cold.
Relationships: Ishimaru Kiyotaka/Oowada Mondo, Owada Daiya & Owada Mondo
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	nothing feels alright now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bastardbones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastardbones/gifts).



> hi!!! please view the tags before reading because the content may be iffy for some people.
> 
> this is for bastardbones because i think about their work nonstop and this is pretty much inspired by them.
> 
> the title is from "lone star" by the front bottoms
> 
> please enjoy!!! <3

It's always so cold in the mornings.

The cold is harsh, the freezing cold burns against his skin like a cigarette that he puts out on the bathroom wall or the curb by the corner store or the back of his hand. The burn from the cold is not as satisfying; it leaves his face chapped with windburn and the feel isn't especially pleasant, but it's never enough to make him tremble like he wishes it did.

Ishimaru comments on it when he strokes his hand against his skin in the darkness of Mondo's bedroom, voice barely above a whisper when he decides to speak up.

"We need to get you a scarf," Is all he says, and Mondo doesn't really reply. His grip remains tight, his eyes shut as a little humming sound leaves his throat. It doesn't mean anything.

He trudges to school the next morning in the overcast, looking up at the dull sky in pity. The murky clouds wash over the sky, the sun hidden behind layers and layers of darkness. 

The sky is grey. It's cold outside. 

Mondo hates the cold.

It's nothing like the cool breeze that flows through his hair when he rides into the night, his engine revving louder than the thoughts that pounded against his skull. Nothing like the warmth he feels when Ishimaru presses up against his side during the night, him in his tank and Taka in his long, button-down pajamas. He's always been traditional like that. Wears those long pajamas and his uniform everywhere he goes, outside of school on the weekends when Mondo can't be bothered to do anything but sit in his presence because God knows what he'll do if he's alone again. Taka's uniform is crisp, never wrinkled, he must have a really good iron, Mondo thinks, he'd like to try it out sometime. 

The cold is nothing like the heat of his anger, so brash and raw, he hasn't felt like that in a while. The white-hot fury is erratic just like him, comes in short and extreme bursts, and of course, he's aggressive as ever. He hates when he's angry, it's almost all the time, like his emotions are one big stale corn maze that eventually just leads to a singular exit, and he hates it, but oh, how he'd give anything to feel like that now. But he doesn't. He only feels the cold, the numbness of the ice on the road and his hands on the breaks. 

The cold bites at him like a ferocious dog who'd broken free from his leash, barking and scarring with teeth so sharp, sharper than a razor, leaving little indents in his skin and on his soul that he could never scrub away.

Kiyotaka presents him with the scarf the next week. It's soft, made of wool, maybe, he doesn't really care. He stiffly accepts it, lets his boyfriend wrap it around his neck and swiftly adjust it to fit him, lets him shows him how to loop the ends through the hole where his neck poked out. Mondo keeps it in mind. 

He only wears it when Ishimaru insists on it. It covers his face when he walks and he looks ridiculous, really, why does he even bother? He'll get shit for something, no matter what he does. He supposes anything is better than Kiyotaka's disappointed lecturing, so he sucks it up, lets the fabric protect him from the blustering January wind. It's his least favorite month, by far. The holidays end and he's in hell, but it's never warm there, oh no, only cold. 

Leon snickers as he enters the building, cramming his equipment bag into his locker. "Nice scarf," He says, but not in a mean way. It's more like playful teasing. Mondo wants to slam his face into the locker.

His jacket is black. The scarf is white.

When he gets to the computer lab, Chihiro greets him with a smile. His smile never fails to brighten his day. Mondo ruffles his hair with an empty grin and they chat about his new software, some high-tech AI that he'd been working on for the last few weeks.

For Mondo, the weeks melted into each other, the line between days blurring as the winter progressed. The anniversary comes and he doesn't walk that day. He stays inside, watches the snow fall through his window. His scarf is hung on the coat rack, his jacket hanging beside it, and he doesn't spare a glance at either of them. His eyes are focused on the flakes that fall and coat the ground and he wants to go and lay in them, stare up at the sky and reach his hand out and catch them, but he doesn't. It's far too cold outside, and Mondo hates the cold.

When he finally peels his gaze away from the snowy stoop, he heads towards the fridge. It's not as cold, so he doesn't mind. He grabs a can of ginger ale and downs the whole thing, his eyes brimming with tears the way they do when you drink a carbonated beverage too fast. It burns his throat, but he doesn't mind that either, in actuality, he kind of likes it. He tosses the can at the trash can and misses, carrying himself back into the living room on heavy feet. He passes the closet on his way and he hates that he looked inside, what the hell is he even searching for, anyway? If he didn't clean it out before, he shouldn't bother doing it now. 

It's full of all of the old, unused clothes that weren't his, but now belonged to him. Shoes lined the bottom of the closet in a neat row that made Mondo want to rip out the soles and shred the leather insteps. The entire closet was very tidy and well-kept, so orderly that with one glance, anyone could tell that it wasn't his. A variety of his clothes were hung on the racks, and Mondo spots an old suit that was likely the only thing that had been taken out of or placed into the closet within the last year.

The suit doesn't fit anymore. It was once his brother's, passed down to Mondo in his early teens. Back then, he was just a kid. He remembers having to get it tailored after Daiya passed it down to him, standing with his legs apart on the stool as he was measured by some worker. The suit fit like a glove after that.

"Ya' look good," Daiya had said to him, ruffling his hair as the two stood before the full-length mirror in the tailor's shop. 

He'd never even gotten a chance to wear the stupid thing before the funeral. He retrieved the suit from that closet as quickly as he could, begrudgingly putting it on. He fumbled with the buttons and sloppily folded his pocket square, looking less than presentable when he showed up to the parlor. He stood by the casket for hours, watching as people filtered in and out of the room, lots of friends, no real family, his half-wrinkled suit and crummy shoes only shaming him further.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Somebody says, he doesn't really care who, he can't be bothered to remember because nobody really got it anyway. Empty condolences served no purpose but to deepen the growing void in his conscience. Nobody understood. And really, nothing was worse than that. Not the way he'd freeze up every time a horn sounded or even the way his mouth got all dry and all of a sudden he'd forget how to breathe every time he saw a truck. No, the worst part of it all was the nights he spent alone after that with nothing to calm his racing brain. He couldn't talk to anyone and he couldn't ride- couldn't even look at his bike for _weeks_ after the accident. 

Mondo walked home in the freezing January cold, the snow falling onto his shoulders and dampening his white coat, looking particularly lonely without its counterpart. The footprints he left crunched as he made them, leaving imprints in the snow and on his soul.

His jacket was white. The sky is grey. It's cold outside. 

The knock on his front door pulls him from his memories, trapping him in the reality of his situation. The sidewalk is covered by now, he notices, but it's not important, because Ishimaru is banging at his door, demanding an explanation. He opens it with a blank expression, and his eyes are so dull, they might as well be grey, too. 

"You didn't come to school today," Kiyotaka announces pointedly. Mondo wants to thank him for pointing out the obvious and shut the door in his fucking face because he feels the cold creeping in from outside and he can't stand it. Kiyotaka seems fine. He's all bundled up with a scarf of his own and he's still wearing that stupid uniform, pristine as ever. But Mondo says nothing, does nothing but stand in place as the incoming air sends a shiver down his spine. 

As they stand there, he only feels worse, so he lets Ishimaru shove him inside and close the door to protect him from the blistering cold. 

"Mondo," He says, rising to the tips of his toes to reach him better, placing one hand on the side of his face. "What's wrong?"

It would take ages to walk Kiyotaka through the story. He'd have to tell him someday, of course, he can't hide this forever, but he doesn't think he can talk about it now. Digging means he'll get upset. When he's upset he gets uneasy. Then he wants to break everything he touches, wants to pound his fists into the drywall and shut everyone he loves away, slam them all into lockers until they stop moving, stop asking him what's wrong, and finally just give up on him.

He reassures Taka with an empty smile, tells him that he overslept that morning and decided to flake. Ishimaru's brows crease in frustration and it's clear that he's unsure whether to believe it or not. Mondo reaches a hand forward to smooth out the crease, leaning in to kiss his forehead. In the end, his belief in Mondo wins over, and the two part soon after. Mondo shuts the door, rummaging through his coat pocket for his pack with one hand as he bolts the lock on his door with the other. He returns to the window, lights a cigarette, and takes a long hit from it, puffing the smoke out between his lips as he inattentively flicks the ashes into the sink. 

The smoke is grey. The ashes pile up. 

All he could see for years was grey. For as long as he could remember, the thick, grey smoke of Daiya's exhaust polluted his life. His past was a cloudy, one-way street on which he could never pass, but once he did, he wanted nothing more than to go back. The street was clear now, and he was in charge, but it was so cold there. The pavement was cold when he skidded across it, his white jacket forever stained by the loose gravel littered across the highway. His blood ran cold when he spotted his brother's bike, with no Daiya to be found. Daiya himself was cold when he knelt down beside him and scooped him into his arms, when he used his last few breaths to construe his final wishes. Those wishes controlled Mondo's life and he felt sick to his stomach again. Cold, dead wishes brewing in an angry man. Mondo wishes it were him.

It's so cold outside. He wonders when he'll explode. 

He starts working out with Chihiro a few days later. He can't say no when the kid asks him for help. Chihiro looks at him like he looked at Daiya and Mondo tries not to think about it all that much. He ignores the pang in his heart when Chihiro gazes up at him with those big, wide eyes and tells him how much he admires his strength. If only you knew, he wants to say, wants to tell him everything right then and there, but it's not about him right now, so he keeps his trap shut and instead teaches Chihiro about the different exercise equipment that was available at their school's extensive gym. 

Sometimes Kiyotaka sticks around after his student government meetings and tags along with them to the locker room. Chihiro, sweet as ever, doesn't mind his presence. He's thankful for that, even if the three look ridiculous together. A tiny programmer, his beefy, hotheaded friend, and a hall monitor. Taka likes to watch them (primarily Mondo) lift weights, and he encourages both of them from the bleachers like he's their own personal cheerleader.

"I'm proud of you," He says one day after they've finished up. Chihiro is out of earshot, and Mondo's head turns so fast that he thinks he gave himself whiplash. Kiyotaka places his hand on his shoulder, and his hands are so warm, nothing like the bitter cold he's so used to. Mondo nearly recoils, but he feels as if he is frozen in place. He has nothing to say in response, and so the two are left standing there once again until Chihiro interrupts with a cheerful suggestion that the trio go out for ice cream to celebrate their progress. Mondo declines, says that he's got a whole quart back in his freezer at home. 

The ice cream is cold. He cries into the tub and wipes his snot on the scarf.

The days don't stop coming. It only gets colder as February arrives, and he just feels worse when it does. It's over, it's been over, but he still feels like complete and utter shit, a thieving waste in a world of ultimates. Kiyotaka invites him to go see a movie that week and he reluctantly accepts his offer because, somehow, his relationship was one of the few things he had going for him. Their evening goes rather well. Taka kisses his cheeks when the cold nips at them and turns him all red, he adjusts his scarf and holds his hand and tells him that he loves him and Mondo hums back in response, leans his head against Taka's shoulder, and allows him to dote on him for the time being. 

"How are you feeling?" He asks, voice hushed as to not upset the others in the theatre. It doesn't really matter; they're seated in the back and it's not very crowded in the screening room. Mondo gives a shrug, fidgeting with his hands. Kiyotaka reaches over to grab one and kisses his cheek. "I'm here if you want to talk." He adds with a soft smile, then turns his head back to the movie. Mondo doesn't take him up on the offer.

He walks Taka home when the movie is finished and they're both full of too many snacks from the concession stand. At least, that's where Kiyotaka thought they'd came from. Mondo found that you can sneak a surprisingly large number of candy bags into the theatre in your jacket pockets if you tried hard enough. They laugh about some cheesy joke that Taka recites from off the internet. When the wind picks up, he drapes his big coat over Taka's shoulders. He's so much smaller than him and the way he has to keep rolling up the sleeves to fit his arms is cute, Mondo thinks.

He drops him off in front of his house and chastely pecks his lips like a boyfriend should, like he wants him to. Mondo wishes him a good night and Taka tells him to take care of himself, so he nods, keeping his head down at the suggestion. Once he retires into his home and closes the door, Mondo retrieves his bike from where he'd left it parked in Ishimaru's driveway and starts on his drive home. He'd left it parked there when he first picked him up. Taka never liked the motorcycle. He could only imagine how much he'd hate them both if he knew. 

Despite the incident, Mondo eventually returned to his bike. He'd loved them since he was a kid, becoming near obsessed about motorcycles back when Daiya first subscribed to those silly magazines that were full of them as a teenager. He was rather shy as a kid, but his room was always full of little scraps that he'd cut from the magazines, pictures of shiny new choppers and ADVs taped up on his wall. He couldn't have been more excited when his brother announced that he was starting a crew of his own and that he was going to teach Mondo all about what it really meant to ride. He knew that one day, he'd get to lead the gang, and god, that thought was so thrilling to a starry-eyed kid like him, it lurked in his subconscious for ages as he worked alongside Daiya to make their shared dream a reality. In the end, he got what he wanted. He lives his worst nightmare.

The drive home is lonely. The sky is grey. It's cold without his jacket.

Mondo doesn't notice, doesn't care until Kiyotaka returns it to him at his and Chihiro's next workout session. 

"I'll be back later," Taka says, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek before running off to his weekly meeting. Chihiro waves him off and the two begin their session as usual. They chat aimlessly as they train together. Mondo teaches Chihiro how to use the ellipticals at his request. They were never his favorite, Mondo explains, but if Chihiro wanted to get stronger, he wouldn't hesitate to help him. 

"It's kind of like a bike!" He chirps with a smile, and it's so sweet that it's sickening. Mondo laughs, but not genuinely, he feels like he needs to hurl. The thought weighs on his heart and he wants to crumple the organ like the magazines he once loved and bury it six feet under with the rest of his problems, with Daiya. Perceptive as ever, Chihiro can tell.

Mondo remembers when Daiya first dragged him along to the gym. He was uninterested at first, but once he saw how strong his brother was, he'd taken up a fascination with that, too. Daiya was so strong, he had faults, but he was strong not only in body but also in mind, like Chihiro was, like he wished he could be. Mondo benches 280 now and he's still not satisfied. He huffs as he lifts the barbell, taking out his anger at the world while his sweaty hands grip onto the cool metal bar that held the weights.

"Is everything okay?" He asks Mondo in between sets, and Mondo sits up to look over at him. He doesn't know what to say. He's never had to answer the question directly before. Kiyotaka already knows the answer. He offers support in any way that he can; kisses, hugs, an evening full of distractions from the burden on his soul. He doesn't push like Chihiro does, and this time, he can't hum the matter away. Chihiro calls his name and his voice echoes throughout the empty gym. 

"Mondo? What's the matter?" The kid looks terrified once he sees Mondo's expression, and he's not wrong to feel that way. Mondo puts his face in his hands.

He wants to run and he wants to scream and put out a thousand cigarettes against the back of his hand and lodge himself in the locker this time. His friends are nothing but nice to him and he is nothing but awful in return. He is the own monster that haunts his dreams and Daiya haunts his memories and he's angry all over again. The numbing cold is gone now; the simple question sends him into a blinding rage in his own head, and he's furious before he can stop himself. 

When he finally calms down, he notes that he hadn't even realized he'd zoned out in the first place. He's just standing there now, rigid as ever, only snapping back to reality as he hears the double doors of the gym click noisily when Taka pushes them open. Mondo makes another note; he doesn't hear the doors close. Kiyotaka is standing there just like he is, but this time, they don't make eye contact. Mondo's still staring at the floor. The next sound he hears is that of the dumbbell in his hand crashing onto the polished floors, rolling endlessly across the bloody hardwood with the tacky basketball layout and the Hope's Peak Crest in the middle of it all. 

His jacket is black. His soul is grey. Chihiro is cold.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for indulging in my sadness! no, i am not ok and neither are you. comments and kudos are appreciated :)


End file.
